


Kiss With a Fist - Florence and the Machine

by EnduringChill



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Fight Club Fusion, Explicit Sexual Content, First Meetings, First Time, Fist Fights, Kissing, M/M, Minor Violence, Oral Sex, Sexual Tension, Thunder and Lightning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-20
Updated: 2016-08-20
Packaged: 2018-08-09 21:24:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7817848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EnduringChill/pseuds/EnduringChill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Part of the July Twelve in Twelve Prompt.</p><p>Side One: Track Five<br/>Kiss With a Fist - Florence and the Machine</p><p>Sam brings a frustrated Steve to the local fight club where he meets Bucky Barnes.</p><p>You hit me once<br/>I hit you back<br/>You gave a kick<br/>I gave a slap<br/>You smashed a plate over my head<br/>Then I set fire to our bed</p><p>You hit me once<br/>I hit you back<br/>You gave a kick<br/>I gave a slap<br/>You smashed a plate over my head<br/>Then I set fire to our bed, oh</p><p>My black eye casts no shadow<br/>Your red eye sees nothing<br/>Your slap don't stick<br/>Your kicks don't hit<br/>So we remain the same<br/>Love sticks<br/>Sweat drips<br/>Break the lock if it don't fit</p><p>A kick to the teeth is good for some<br/>A kiss with a fist is better then none</p><p>A kiss with a fist is better then none</p><p>I broke your jaw once before<br/>I spilled your blood upon the floor<br/>You broke my leg in return<br/>So sit back and watch the bed burn<br/>Love sticks<br/>Sweat drips<br/>Break the lock if it don't fit</p><p>A kick in the teeth is good for some<br/>A kiss with a fist is better then none, oh</p><p>A kiss with a fist is better then none</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kiss With a Fist - Florence and the Machine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [221BJen (jcoz1701)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jcoz1701/gifts).



> I have stopped pretending to keep up with this prompt challenge or write them in order. July was about weather bringing your characters together. If you squint....a sweltering July day and violent summer storm brings Bucky and Steve face to face....in more ways than one.
> 
> Endless thanks to my betas (who are amazing authors of their own) callie4180 and 221bJen for their quick beta work and help as this quick idea blossomed out of control. This is only my second attempt at Stucky, so I hope I do the characters and genre justice. Please let me know what you think. I have a few other story ideas for these two!
> 
> Also a belated birthday gift to Jen. THIS is the fic I meant to gift you!

 

Steve is a great guy, kind and generous. He’s always willing to help and puts aside his own needs for everyone. His smile lights up the darkest rooms, and everyone around him feels special. Steve believes that he has been born to social work. The city is filled with helpless families. After all, he had once been weak and overlooked. The gratitude of a struggling mother’s face almost makes up for the meager paycheck. He gives and gives until nothing is left at the end of the day. When he returns home to his tiny one bedroom apartment, he feels like an empty shell. It takes all his energy to flop onto his bed to watch some TV. 

 

After yet another long day of domestic disputes, child protective orders and drug overdoses, Steve slumps over the piles of paperwork on his rusted desk. He has miles of it to fill out, and he only wants to go home with a cold six pack and forget the day. Sam, his partner in crime, sinks into the tiny chair opposite Steve’s desk. 

 

“What a fucking day.” Sam rubs his eyes.

 

“Remember that domestic dispute from last month?” Steve reads the file in front of him.

 

“Which one? There are so many.”

 

“Maribel. She was just twenty. Her boyfriend just got sprung from jail.” Steve turns the paper over.

 

“Yeah, real sadist. Burned his initials into her back, right?” Sam asks.

 

Steve holds up a photo of Maribel, her face beaten black and purple. “She’s dead. He killed her yesterday, in front of her two year old daughter.”

 

“Shit Steve.” Sam leans forward. “I’m sorry. I know you tried to get her into a shelter.”

 

Steve’s hand curls into a tight fist. “This fucking job.” He slams it against the desk. “Nothing we do makes a difference.”

 

“It’s harder to see on days like today.” Sam searches Steve’s face. “Dude, do you have an outlet?”

 

“An outlet?” Steve glances up.

 

“You know, do you run? Knit? Angry sex?” Sam asks. “You know, something to help you unwind.”

 

Steve wrenches his neck until he hears a pop. “I run.”

 

Sam grins. “And sex? What about Sharon down Child Protective Services?”

 

Steve’s cheeks flush. “She’s not my type. I’m not really into casual stuff, you know.”

 

“You need an outlet, man. Something to get it out,” Sam says.

 

Steve nods slowly. “I know. It’s hard to leave the anger behind.”

 

“What are you doing tonight?” Sam asks.

 

“Ordering a pizza and watching TV. You?” Steve stuffs the papers back into the file. 

“No. You’re coming with me. I think you’ll like this. It’s exactly what you need.”

  
  
  
  


Steve is incredibly skeptical as he checks his phone again. The address is correct, an abandoned parking garage several levels underground. He wonders if Sam is secretly planning his death. The directions specify to descend to level D. He hears voices as he jogs down the crumbling staircase. Men shouting and cheering. As he reaches D, the shouting is even louder. Floodlights bend around the corners and beckon Steve toward the noise. He sees a cluster of men, maybe twenty, gathered in a circle. 

 

Sam steps away from the crowd. “Rogers, over here.”

 

Steve looks around. “What is this?”

 

“Take a look.” Sam steps out of the circle. 

 

Steve inches closer. The tight circle of men consists of all types. Muscular, slight, some in business suits and others in jeans and t-shirts. At the center of the ring, two men dance around each other with fists clenched. Their knuckles are bruised and faces bloody. 

 

“What  _ is _ this?” Steve asks again and turns to the spectators rabid with bloodlust. 

 

One man is in his forties wearing a cheap business suit. Blood stains his sweat soaked shirt and tears run down his full face. The other man, taller but also in business suit has a split lip but otherwise is barely ruffled. He shouts taunts at the smaller man and laughs along with the crowd. It’s like a cat with an injured mouse. 

 

A part of Steve is repulsed by the scene. The taunting and catcalls. The laughter and backslapping. Another part feels energized, like he is finally alive. He watches the smaller man hop and shift his feet. Despite being older, he is quick and ducks. It takes only one blow to the side of the younger man’s head and he goes down hard against the asphalt. His head hits with a hard thunk and the crowd erupts in chaos. 

 

  
Sam steps to the side. “Every Friday and Saturday night they get together to fight. Men, no matter the background, get together and beat the shit out of each other.”

 

“Is this legal?” Steve glances around for cameras or police. 

 

“Everyone comes here, tense and pissed off. By the end of the night, everyone is hugging and having a beer. It might not be the answer, but maybe….maybe this will help for those days like today.” Sam shrugs.

 

Steve raises his eyebrows. “You didn't answer the question.”

 

“Does this look legal? First rule, it stays here. You see someone on the street, you don't talk about it. Anyone asks where you've been, you don't talk about it. You go to the hospital, you don't talk about it,” Sam instructs.

 

“Winner!” A tall man with a bush of black hair shouts and holds up the hand of the younger man. Others rush to the aid of the older man with antibiotic cream, bandages and a cold beer.

 

“Have you done this?” Steve asks.

 

“Will you think less of me if I say yes?” 

 

“I don't think I could think any less of you.” Steve cracks a grin.

 

Playfully Sam punches Steve’s arm. “I've been in once or twice. It's pretty intense, but you feel so much better. Certainly better than if you pound a six pack or a fifth of Jack.”

 

“Who's next?” The man with dark hair hollers to the crowd. 

 

The men look around to see who the first contender will be. The air has gone still with tension as no one steps into the circle.

 

The man grins. “Okay then.” He strips off his black t-shirt to reveal a broad chest riddled with scars and bruises. “Who will fight me?”

 

The crowd goes wild again, like a pack of hungry wolves. A man with sandy hair saunters into the circle.

 

“Are you sure Clint? I kicked your ass pretty hard last time,” the dark haired man sneers.

 

Clint returns his humorless smile. “I’ve had an exceptionally bad day. Let's go.”

 

The two men begin to circle each other, lunging forward in turns.

 

“Does that guy run it?” Steve asks.

 

“That's Brock. He sort of started it. He'll stop something if it gets too serious,” Sam says. “He rarely loses. I've seen it once.”

 

Steve nods. “He's a big guy.”

 

“I bet you could take him.” Sam nudges him.

 

Steve looks over Brock’s broad shoulders covered in a fresh sheen of sweat. True, Steve could probably take him, but Brock has a lot of anger simmering under those muscles. His face is made of jagged stone; nothing about Brock is soft. 

 

“I have no interest in fighting that,” Steve muses as Brock’s fist connects with Clint’s nose.

 

Sam glances over to Steve. “I shouldn't have brought you here. I'm sorry man. I didn't mean to freak you out.”

 

Steve shakes his head. “No, it’s fine. It’s….interesting.”

 

Brock hits Clint one last time, sending the smaller man to his hands and knees. Clint spits and wipes the blood from his eyes. Brock looms over him with bloodied fists curled, waiting for Clint to pop up. 

 

“Fuck,” Clint growls and raises an arm in surrender. 

 

The crowd erupts in cheers while Brock offers Clint a hand off his knees. They embrace with a hearty clap on the back, and Clint limps off to get medical attention and a cold beer. A towel sails through the throng and Brock catches it before it hits the cement. 

 

“Who's next?” he calls.

 

“We can go if this isn't your thing,” Sam shrugs.

 

Steve glances up and Brock's eyes lock on his as he stalks over. He wipes the blood from his brow. 

 

“You're new here.” Brock drapes the towel around his neck.

 

“Yeah,” Steve nods. “First time.”

 

Brock’s gaze switches to Sam. “Does he know how things work?”

 

“Oh yeah, I laid it all out,” Sam says.

 

Brock grins. “You have a name?”

 

“Do you use real names?” Steve asks.

 

Brock shrugs. “It's up to you, soldier.”

 

Steve takes a step back. “How did you know?”

 

“The way you stand. The way you look around aware of your surroundings.” 

 

“I'm Steve.” 

 

Brock’s lip curls. “You fighting tonight, Steve?”

 

“I don't think I'm ready for that.” 

 

Brock nods. “Most aren't. It's okay. Watch for as long as you like.” He licks his lips. “Some like to watch.”

 

Heat spreads across Steve’s cheeks. He's certain that Brock wants to do more than watch. 

 

“I'm Brock. I run this group. You have any questions, you see me. You have any  problems, you see me.” He grins again. “You need anything, you see me.”

 

Steve nods tightly. “Got it.”

 

Brock whirls around and stalks back to the crowd. “Who’s next?”

 

Sam rocks on his heels. “He likes you.”

 

“I know. I’m ready to go,” Steve turns to leave. 

  
  
  


Steve returns to the deserted car park the following Friday despite his reservations. Another bad week of evictions, abuse, overdoses. By the time Friday afternoon hits, Steve’s hands are permanently curled into fists aching for contact. He watches Clint make another attempt at Brock and fail again. Sam enters the circle and makes a balding man bleed from his nose. Six fights before the wail of a distant siren scatters the men to their homes. Steve takes a bruised Sam to a bar and buys him a double scotch. He feels unsatisfied with the evening, like he had wanted to feel his knuckles ache.    
  


 

It takes three more visits before he answers Brock’s call to action. His heart pounds as he steps into the circle. A bulldog of a man stands opposite of him with a neck thicker than his thigh. Steve’s hands curl into fists as he begins his dance around the man. The first punch catches Steve’s chin, sending him back a few steps. The bulldog lands another against his cheek and he staggers back.

 

“C’mon Steve!” Sam calls.

 

The rage Steve has pushed deep down in his gut burns like acid. He growls and lunges forward to unleash his fury upon the bulldog. Blow after blow, he feels the crunch of bones and the give of muscle. He hits until the bulldog is on all fours with one arm raised in surrender. 

 

“Winner!” Brock hand claps his back as the crowd hollers and hoots around him. “Get this man a beer.” Brock squeezes Steve’s shoulder before looking for the next fight. 

 

“Damn Rogers,” Sam whistles. “I had no idea so much rage was locked inside that baby face of yours.”

 

“Shove it, Sam.” Steve winces as a cotton swab of antiseptic is pressed to his cheek. 

 

“How do you feel?” Sam asks as he presses a cold bottle of beer into Steve’s palm. 

 

Spitting out some blood, Steve considers the question. He should feel ashamed that he just beat a man into submission. The air is thick with masculine power, charged by his victory. He should be choking on the stench of blood clinging to his clothes. But he doesn’t. Instead, Steve feels alive and as if he won the New York City marathon. His lungs sting and his heart races out of control. He’s already looking forward to next Friday.

  
  


Steve doesn't fight every Friday night. Some weeks, he's happy enough to watch Sam slug it out and have a few beers with Clint, who is a frustrated assistant district attorney. He meets Scott, an ex-convict who floats from one degrading service job to the next. On a few occasions, the billionaire Tony Stark turns up with food and top shelf liquor. He's treated as a celebrity and loses most of the time because he's too busy making wisecracks. Steve finds a common thread with most of the men who gather every Friday night in a dank, urine soaked cement jungle. Each of them wants to change their world but feels helpless against corruption or hierarchy. Frustrated and angry, they resolve to push themselves to edge of pain and physical exhaustion only to collapse in the arms of brotherhood.

  
  
  


The rain lashes the side of the parking garage on an impossibly stuffy Friday night. The heat has choked the city for days, and the evening storms offer no relief. Most weeks are grueling but the summer heat has made everyone crazy, pushing Steve to his breaking point. He had slammed his fist on the bathroom sink before locking himself Natasha’s office to rant and, eventually cry. 

 

Sam is equally spoiling for a fight. The ride to the parking garage is filled with oppressive silence. As they crawl through the hole In the chicken wire, they can already hear the hollers and hoots of a fight.

 

“Started early tonight,” Sam muses.

 

“Guess everyone’s had a crap week,” Steve mutters. 

 

It's unlike him to not be able to shake off the malaise of the day. He wants to hurt and be hurt. Deep down, he wants to be ripped open and exposed so maybe he can feel clean or at least different. He doesn't want to punch the same faces, he needs a new experience. New pain. New pleasure.

 

Steve swallows roughly as they approach the circle. Brock stands on the hood of a car, policing the fight at the center. Each week, his beady eyes sweep over Steve with palpable lust. Maybe tonight Steve will give Brock what he wants. Need has been itching under his skin, and a mere beating won't satisfy it tonight.

 

Brock notices Steve’s gaze and grins. As he's about to hop off the hood, a loud thud draws his attention back to the circle.

 

“Shit, winner!” He cries and the crowd goes mad.

 

Steve stretches to his toes to see over the heads and back slapping. A blonde man is slumped on the ground, clutching his stomach. His opponent is nowhere to be found. The others murmured in awe as they glance around. Brock breaks through the crowd to offer a hand to the blond man. 

 

“Can someone get this guy a beer?” Brock helps him sit up. 

 

“Water,” the man coughs. “Beer later.”

 

As Brock gets the man to his feet, a smattering of applause turns to hollers and slaps on his back. 

 

“Who’s next?” Clint takes over as master of ceremonies while Brock tends to the very bloody blond.

 

Sam strips off his wet t-shirt and tosses it at Steve’s feet. “Me. Who’s in?”

 

Scott, the ex-convict steps into the circle opposite Sam. “I’m game. I just found out my ex-wife is engaged again….so bring it.”

 

Sam and Scott begin to circle around one another like lions. Scott lunges forward to catch Sam off guard. The ever zen Sam barely blinks at these sudden moves. Until Scott finally throws a fist in his direction, and Sam swerves and lands a blow to Scott’s side. 

 

Steve's palms itch as he watches fists fly. Sam has more muscle, but Scott is quick. He rebounds quickly and manages to make Sam’s nose bleed. Steve feels Brock stand a little too close behind. He begins to reconsider his thought of going home with Brock for a different fight. It wouldn't be much of a challenge though. Brock has made his interest in Steve fairly transparent. All it would take is a slight head nod from Steve, and Brock would be his. 

 

The Scott and Sam fight seems to go on forever. One punch to Scott’s solar plexus lands him to the ground where he pants in all fours. 

 

He raises a hand. “Done! I'm done.” 

 

Sam offers a hand to him. “Great fight, man.”

 

Scott nods while he catches his breath. “Someone get me a beer.”

 

The circle closes to congratulate Sam and offer Scott a pat on the back. Both are given a cold can of beer from one of the coolers at the edge of the circle. 

 

Sam’s jaw has relaxed for the first time all day. His smile comes easier as if the weight of week has been lifted. Steve instantly feels jealous. If he doesn't step into the circle soon, he’ll snap like a trap. Though it could happen outside the safety of the circle and the club who he has grown to trust. 

 

A crack of thunder quiets the din of laughter and conversation as everyone waits for sirens or foreign footfalls. 

 

“All clear,” Clint calls from the edge of the lot. 

 

“Who's next?” Brock calls. 

 

Everyone clears the center and looks around. Steve's feet stay planted on the side. He's initiated before, but tonight he needs something to prod him, inspire him.

 

“Are we done?” Brock taunts.

 

“No,” says a voice behind Clint and the blonde man. 

 

When the voice steps into the clearing, Steve hears a few gasps and whispers.

 

“He only comes Saturday.”

 

“He already went tonight.”

 

The man, slightly shorter than Steve, sports a bloodstained white t-shirt. The knuckles of his right hand are red from earlier. He runs a hand through his wavy dark hair and challenges anyone nearby with his steel blue eyes.

 

“Again? You sure?” Brock asks.

 

The man only nods and his eyes catch on Steve who feels a magnetic pull in his chest and more importantly, his crotch. He wants to hurt and be hurt by this man. Steve shifts his weight and glances quickly at the crowd before meeting the gaze of icy blue eyes again. He has no saliva to swallow, but attempts to force down the odd flutter in his chest. His feet carry him to stand opposite the man with rusty blood smeared shirt. 

 

“All right Steve!” Sam yells from somewhere over his shoulder. Steve has no idea where anyone is, he can only watch the man before him curl his hand into a fist.

 

Steve jumps when he feels a hand on his shoulder. “Sit this one out. I got this,” Brock says.

 

Steve frowns. “What? Why?”

 

“Barnes is undefeated,” Brock says quietly.

 

“So are you.” Steve shrugs.

 

Brock's eyes shift to Barnes. “Not completely.”

 

Steve's eyes widen. According to Sam, no one has ever beaten Brock. This Barnes guy is smaller, and God knows better looking. Brock has the weathered face of a man who has seen many fights. Barnes is, well, he's fucking gorgeous. 

 

“Are we doing this, princess?” Barnes sighs.

 

Steve whips his head around. One half wants to punch his God-chiseled chin. The other wants to pull on that wavy hair and crush himself against full lips.

 

He shakes Brock's hand off his shoulder. “Definitely.” 

 

Barnes smirks and pulls his shirt over his head in one swift motion. His jeans hang low off his hips to reveal the trail of hair just below his navel. Slowly, Steve's gaze moves across a taut stomach and well sculpted chest to freeze at Barnes’ left shoulder. Shiny, dark pink skin surrounds a pale latex-looking shoulder that extends over arm. How had Steve not noticed that his left hand had been sheathed in a black leather glove? The eyes, he had definitely been lost in the eyes.

 

“You okay princess?” Barnes tossed his shirt to the ground.

 

Steve relaxes his stance. “I can't…”

 

Barnes purses his lips and shakes his head. “Probably best, for your sake.”

 

Steve’s eyebrows shoot up. “My sake? I mean, it not fair...you've got…”

 

Barnes steps closer. “I've got a what?”

 

Suddenly, Steve feels awful. He's hurt this guy's feelings by pointing out a weakness. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean..”

 

He's too busy making apologies that the left punch feels like being slammed by a steel beam. His world spins as he staggers back against Brock.

 

“What the..” Steve blinks.

 

“It's a Stark prosthetic,” Brock says.

 

Steve has heard of Stark, robotics and something about a lucrative government contract.  Shaking his head, he scrambles to his feet.

 

“I'm sorry. Did my disability surprise you?” Barnes sneers.

 

It's not much of a disability when it hits like a cannon, Steve considers. Taking a closer look, he sees several plates on the prosthetic that move together in one fluid motion. Most arms Steve has seen are stiff and robotic.

 

“Are we done, Princess?” Barnes sighs. “Let someone else take over and get yourself a wine cooler.”

 

The crowd lets out an ‘ohh’ in unison. If Steve doesn't fight this smart ass, he'll never be able to show up again.

 

“Okay,” Steve nods and moves to the center of the circle. “You want to dance, sweetheart, let’s dance. But I'm leading…”

 

He punches Barnes in his ridiculously square jaw, and the man stumbles back a few steps. It might have been a cheap shot but Steve was only returning the favor. Barnes doesn't look surprised, in fact he grins and it nearly stops Steve’s heart. 

 

“Good. Let's do this properly then.” Barnes moves to the center to assume a traditional fighter’s pose.

 

Steve tells himself to stop swooning and kick this guy's ass. Barnes is looking for a fight, not a date. As pretty as his face is, Steve plans to make it bleed.

 

“You sure?” Brock’s voice is laced with concern.

 

His eyes don't leave Barnes as Steve nods once. He hears Brock sigh over his shoulder. 

 

“Okay. Ready...set...go!” Brock calls.

 

The dance begins then, with Barnes and Steve circling like hungry tigers. Their gaze holds steady, even as fists fly. 

 

Barnes lunges forward and Steve ducks and weaves to bring a fist to the rib cage. Barnes winces, but delivers a blow to Steve’s cheek. His jaw pops and his mouth fills with blood. He spits and wipes his mouth with his forearm leaving a trail of blood. Steve recovers and lands a few punches to Barnes’ nose and stomach. They pant as they take a moment and circle again.

 

Steve can't deny that watching Barnes’ glistening torso isn't distracting the hell out of him. He also doesn't fail to notice that Barnes keeps his prosthetic cannon in front of his face, and hits mostly with his right. He knows that Barnes could probably knock him cold if he really wanted.

 

Barnes doesn't exhaust easily. Another thought that distracts Steve and gets him a punch to his stomach. Meanwhile, Steve’s lungs are burning against the stale summer air. The night doesn't even offer a breeze for relief. He strips off his shirt and tosses it to the side. Blinking against the sweat and blood running into his eyes, he's pretty sure he saw Barnes grin. 

 

Gathering the rest of his reserve, Steve launches himself at Barnes. His fists assault muscle until his fingers go numb. Barnes delivers a few impressive blows with his Stark arm, then suddenly goes slack and kneels on the ground. Steve wipes his eyes to see Barnes on all fours, a sight that curls in Steve's stomach. Barnes barely pants, nor does he look winded. Yet his raises his arm and looks directly at Steve.

 

The crowd goes mental behind them, but Steve barely registers the noise. Barnes’ lips turn up in a lascivious grin and he winks.

 

Brock grabs Steve’s sore arm and raises it high over his head. “Winner!”

 

Many hands clap and slide over Steve’s back. It's not the way he wants to be touched. He pulls away from Brock to offer a hand to Barnes. He's absolutely certain the man with arm of steel just tossed the fight. 

 

Barnes long fingers curl around Steve’s outstretched hand. Without hesitation, he brings him in for a hug.

 

“Good fight,” he says against Steve’s ear.

 

Steve can only process Barnes’ sweat slicked skin against his. Their stomachs touch and Steve swallows a moan.

 

“Yeah, great fight.” Steve misses the contact as Barnes moves away. 

 

“That was fucking incredible.” Brock is in his face again. 

 

“Yeah, I need water,” Steve pants and breaks away.

 

Barnes holds Steve’s shirt in his hand. “Here you go.”

 

“Thanks.” He wipes his face and frowns down at the blood on his favorite light blue shirt.

 

Then Barnes vanishes in the sea of men that enclose around Steve. 

 

“That was amazing. I heard no one’s beat that dude,” Sam says.

 

“No one has.” Steve slips his shirt back on.

 

Sam laughs. “I just saw you beat him. You had him on the ground.”

 

Steve accepts the handshakes and high fives as he makes his way to the cooler.

 

“I didn't beat him.” Steve shakes his head. “He let me win.” He flips it open to pull two beers out of the ice and tosses one to Sam. “That arm of his could have knocked me into next Wednesday. He was holding back.”

 

Sam snaps off the top on the edge off the side of the cooler. “It didn't look like he was holding back.”

 

Steve takes a long sip of beer. It's a crappy IPA but it's cold and feels good on his parched throat. “Well he was, so I didn't win.”

 

Clint appears with peroxide and bandages. “First aid,” he calls cheerfully.

 

Suddenly, Steve feels the cut on his lower lip and the abrasions on his cheek. 

 

“How bad is the damage?” He asks.

 

Clint lifts Steve’s shirt. “Does it hurt to breathe?”

 

Steve fills his lungs with the stagnant summer air. “Not too much.”

 

Clint tenderly touches the red marks on Steve’s ribs. “Maybe bruised, but definitely not broken.” He saturates a cotton ball with peroxide and dabs at the abrasions. Steve hisses against the sting.

 

“How's the other guy?” Steve glances around. He can hear that another fight is on.

 

“Oh Barnes? He never gets medical attention. He fights and he goes. He never takes a beer or anything.” Clint applies ointment to Steve’s cheek. “There, good as new.”

 

“Thanks.” 

 

A flash of lightning illuminates the the dim parking garage. He can't help but feel disappointed that he won't see Barnes again. Was he flirting with Steve right at the end? What was the wink for? 

 

Though the fighting continues, Brock breaks away from the crowd. Steve definitely does not like the look in his eye. So far, he's been able to evade a possible solicitation from Brock. However tonight, he looks determined. Maybe a half hour ago, Steve would have considered it, but the thought does nothing for him now.

 

“I'm heading out.” Steve places his half finished beer on the cooler.

 

“Oh, okay. Just let me finish this,” Sam points to his beer.

 

“No, you stay. I kind of want to just be alone and go to bed. I'm exhausted.” Steve inches away. “Call me tomorrow, okay?”

 

Sam frowns. “Yeah, okay. Be careful leaving.”

 

“Sure thing. Later Clint.” Steve nods and stalks away from the fight and Brock. 

 

Winding his way down the staircase to the first level, Steve hears the rain pounding against the ground. Getting a cab will be impossible on a night like tonight. The closest train station is about a quarter of a mile away. He has no chance to stay dry. He looks down. Crap, he has blood smeared on his shirt. That will definitely draw unwanted attention. 

 

“Christ, took you long enough,” a voice calls out in the darkness.

 

Instinctively Steve balls his fist ready to defend himself. He really should have waited for Sam, but Brock.

 

“We're done fighting for the night,” Barnes steps out of shadows, still shirtless.

 

“Geez,” Steve sighs. “You startled me.”

 

Barnes grins. “Geez?” He cocks an eyebrow. His fingers ghost over Steve’s cheek. “Looks like someone took care of you.”

 

“Yeah Clint.” Steve touches the bandage. “He says you never get patched up.”

 

Barnes walks a few steps toward the garage opening. “I'm not much for socializing.” He winks. “And they never have good beer.”

 

“Hate to tell you, but you're socializing now,” Steve points out casually. Inside, he has turned to jelly. 

 

“On a small scale.” Barnes looks up. “Besides Brock kind of creeps me out.”

 

Steve nods. “Yeah, same here.”

 

Barnes’ eyes sweep over Steve. “He has good taste at least.”

 

Steve struggles to swallow the tiny bit of saliva he has. “Why did you let me win?”

 

“You think I would throw a fight?” Barnes crosses his arms in front of his broad chest. It's definitely distracting.

 

“I'm not questioning your overall integrity, but I didn’t beat you.”

 

The corner of Barnes mouth twitches up to a lopsided grin. “Okay fine. I didn't want to ruin my chances of something more interesting than beating each other into a pulp.”

 

Steve gnaws on the inside of his cheek. “More interesting…”

 

Barnes closes their distance to mere inches. Though Steve is technically an inch taller, Barnes has an impressive presence. 

 

“More intimate. I'm not wrong, am I?” His lips nearly brush against Steve’s.

 

“No,” Steve whispers.

 

One hand curls around the back of Steve's neck. Barnes’ thumb kneads slow circles. “So tense still.” He moves in slowly until his lips press against Steve’s.

 

It has been so long since Steve had been touched, let alone kissed. He holds back from diving into Barnes’ luscious mouth. Slowly, he parts his lips to beckon Barnes inside. He feels a smile against his mouth as a tongue slips past his teeth to tease his own. 

 

Immediately, their kiss is a tangle of tongues and teeth. Barnes gloved hand slips down Steve’s back to give his ass a firm squeeze. Steve wraps one arm around Barnes’ bare shoulders and slips the other around his slim waist. His hard cock bumps against Barnes’ hip.

 

“Ready for me, are ya?” He growls in Steve’s ear. He grinds his own erection against Steve’s thigh. 

 

“Holy…,” Steve bites his lip. It feels incredible, like nothing he's ever done. His experience is limited at best. However, Barnes has been around the block a few times. Probably in this garage.

 

Barnes slips his hand under Steve’s shirt. “You're fucking solid.”

 

Steve’s only response is to kiss him. He's pretty sure that he's never kissed anyone like this. His tongue plunges inside Barnes’ mouth, wanting to feel every tastebud. 

 

“Can we take this somewhere else?” Barnes rumbles against his cheek. “When the fights stop, they'll be coming down.”

 

That hadn't occurred to Steve. He could just see himself in the middle of any number of sex acts when everyone streams down the concrete stairs.

 

“I live a few train stops away but,” he gestures to the smeared blood on his shirt.

 

“I have a car.” Barnes captures his mouth in a brief but searing kiss.

 

Steve raises an eyebrow. “You want me to get in a car with a stranger?”

 

Barnes chuckles. “You just invited me to your home.”

 

Steve smiles. “True.”

 

They hear feet shuffling above them.

 

“Shit, let's go.” Barnes jogs toward the opening. 

 

Steve follows him before Sam sees him slip away with a strange man and his phone starts ringing. The rain pounds on the street so hard that it bounces off the pavement. Steve splashes through puddles, soaking his shoes and pant legs. Barnes ducks down a side street to a lone BMW on the street. With a blip-blip, he reaches for the door handle. 

 

Steve pauses when he opens to door to see caramel colored leather seats. 

 

“Get in,” Barnes nods.

 

“But the seats,” Steve protests.

 

“Just get in.” Barnes starts the car with just a push of a button.

 

Steve slips inside. He's not sure why the car surprises him. The club draws people from all economic backgrounds. He figures rich people need to get out stress too.

 

“This is a very nice car,” Steve glances around.

 

“Thanks. It's new.” Barnes shifts the car into gear as he pulls out on the quiet New York streets. 

 

Steve hums. “Still has the new car smell.” Internally, he winces at his awful attempt at small talk.

 

Barnes glances over with a small smile. “Where do you live?”

 

“Brooklyn, Red Hook...just beyond the Heights..” Steve can’t believe he is really doing this. 

 

“I know where Red Hook is. I came from the Heights,” Barnes replies. 

 

The rain blurs the street lights as they splash through puddles. Barnes flicks through stations on the screen before he settles on listening to a sports channel. Steve resists squirming in the passenger seat. Every time he feels his nerve waver, he steals a glance at Barnes to renew his resolve. 

 

“I’m right here,” Steve points to the third brownstone on the block. 

 

“Not too bad.” Barnes pushes the wet hair off his forehead.

 

“Rent control. They'll have to bury me here,” Steve says. He watches Barnes flex the fingers on his prosthetic arm. “Can I ask you something?”

 

Barnes follows his gaze. “Car accident. The guy was drunk and texting. Crushed my arm just above the elbow.”

 

Steve blinks a few times. “Oh, well...I’m sorry.” He pauses. “But that’s not what I was going to ask?”

 

“No? It’s usually the first question.” Barnes’ lips twitch to a sad smile. “Okay, shoot.”

 

Steve feels foolish all of a sudden. “Is it waterproof? You know, the arm.”

 

Barnes chuckles warmly. “Yes, as you can probably see, it’s fused, a part of me now. I shower with it. Swim with it.” 

 

“It looks amazing.”

 

“Best that money could buy,” Barnes peers out the window. “Let me know which one is yours.”

 

“I'm the third one in.” Suddenly, Steve is nervous. He doesn't do this kind of thing, just pick up a random stranger and invite him home. Never mind that he’d been punching the guy earlier.

 

Barnes parks a few houses away. Luckily, the rain has let up to a light shower. Steve wonders if it's too late to pull the plug. He's come down from the endorphins and now just wants to crawl upstairs to sleep. 

 

Barnes grabs his shirt from the center console and pulls it over his head. Watching his muscles ripple, the heat rushes back to Steve.

 

“Nice building,” Barnes muses at the foot of Steve’s front stairs.

 

“Even though it's rent control, the landlord is really good about keeping it up.” He digs into his front pocket for his keys. 

 

The stairs creak under their weight as they climb the four floors to Steve’s apartment. He fiddles with his keys again, and pushes the door open.

 

His apartment is small but tidy. Every appliance in the galley kitchen sparkles like new. The small pub table has fresh flowers and coordinated placemats. 

 

“Do you have a girlfriend?” Barnes asks apprehensively.

 

“Would I have you here if I did?”

 

Barnes walks into the living area where everything matches and has a color scheme - muted blue and plum with tan as a base.

 

“This place is ridiculously clean for a guy,” Barnes chuckles.

 

“Not for me.” Steve shrugs.

 

He doesn't see Barnes coming at him, suddenly covering his body. The kiss is wet and fierce, clacking teeth and biting lips. Steve has never experienced this before, such hunger. His desire to go to sleep evaporates the moment Barnes’ full lips touch him. Fingertips reach for the hem of his damp t-shirt and tug. It’s all happening so fast. A part of Steve wants to slow it down, maybe have a drink…..

 

Then Barnes hand cups Steve’s erection. They can have a drink after. He moves from accepting Barnes’ kisses to pushing back. They bump into the table and the vase of flowers wobbles. Barnes pulls Steve’s shirt over his head to toss on the floor. Even in his aroused state, Steve stares at the damp fabric and worries about how it will seep into the carpet. A roll of Barnes’ hips against his thigh switches his focus. 

 

“Do you want to see my room?” Steve asks almost bashfully. 

 

Barnes leans back and smiles. “Sure sweetheart.” He nips at Steve’s bottom lip. “I’m hoping you’ll let me get to second base at least.”

 

Steve’s cheeks warm. “Look, this is not something I typically do…”

 

Barnes slides his hand top the back of Steve’s neck. “I think you’re cute. And - fucking hot.” His eyes trail down Steve’s torso. “Like how you don’t use this fucking body as a weapon everyday? It’s a crime against sex.”

 

Now Steve’s cheek are blazing in a full blush. “Flattery will get you everywhere.”

 

Barnes’ hand slips to a taut nipple. His thumb kneads the bud as Steve arches into the touch. “I’m hopin’ it will get me full access, doll.”

 

“This way,” Steve says gruffly. His entire body is on fire. 

 

The door pushes open and Barnes pauses to look at the tan and burgundy room. “Do you feng shui?”

 

“No. Is it that neat?” Steve asks, almost afraid to ever see Barnes’ apartment.

 

“You don’t realize that absolutely everything in this room is balanced? The colors and spacing. Even the furniture.” Barnes shakes his head. 

 

“It just looks…” Steve shrugs. “...right.”

 

Barnes’ smile turns feral. “I can’t wait to mess you up.”

 

Wet clothes hit the floor, his antique rocker and the edge of the bed. 

 

“Is this a bedskirt, Steve?” Barnes asks.

 

“Yeah. I don’t want everyone seeing the plastic sweater containers.”

 

Barnes’ mouth should come with a warning, like a controlled substance. Everywhere it touches Steve, he tingles. Barnes’ body is meant for drawing, with sharp lines leading to curves and muscles. Steve can see this taut body spread out on his bedspread just waiting to be celebrated in charcoal. He traces with his tongue and the lightest touch of his fingertips. 

 

“Oh...my..” Steve moans as Barnes’ fingers slip below his navel. 

 

“You don’t ever swear, do you?” Barnes says against Steve’s stomach.

 

“Well, I mean...in extreme circumstances….maybe,” Steve pants. 

 

Barnes noses at the crease between his hip and thigh. “I’m going to make you swear if it is the last thing I do, sweetheart.”

 

And he nearly does as Barnes dip lower and engulfs him with wet heat. Steve isn’t sure what to hold on to. He fist the bedspread as his hips thrust up into Barnes’s mouth. Just when he thinks the night will end in early disaster, Barnes pulls off and slides up his body.

 

“That didn’t do it for you, huh?” He grins mischievously. “I’ll just have to work harder.”

 

Barnes licks and sucks places Steve has never been touched. Somehow, Steve doesn’t completely let go. He moans and gasps. Every so often, an embarrassing “Oh!” is exclaimed. It’s not until Steve is on all fours with Barnes moving inside him that his world unhinges from its tidy corners. Every thrust sparks waves of pleasure that ripple through his body. 

 

“Oh God Barnes…” he moans.

 

“I got you talking about God...that’s good,” Barnes grunts behind him. “And it’s Bucky...call me Bucky.”

 

And Barnes, rather Bucky, wraps one hand around Steve and snaps his hips forward at a brutal pace. What tumbles out of Steve’s mouth, he can’t control. He’s certain that all his neighbors know that he is having the best sex of his life. He feels the pressure build in his stomach. Looking down at his bedspread, Steve wishes for a second he had placed a towel underneath them. 

 

“Fuck Steve! Jesus Christ!” Bucky thrusts hard two more times before he collapses on Steve’s back. 

 

Steve’s arms already burn from the fight earlier and supporting his weight while Bucky moved behind him. His cock throbs with want. How had he not come already? Bucky’s hand squeezes him hard, cutting off his orgasm. 

 

“Get on your back,” Buck growls against Steve’s ear. 

 

Again the wet heat envelops him, sucking and licking at a furious pace. Bucky moves two fingers inside Steve, and everything explodes. This time, his fingers wind in Bucky’s wavy hair. 

 

“Oh shit! Oh shit!” Steve can’t control his hips from moving deeper into Bucky’s mouth. “Oh fuck, oh Bucky!”

 

Steve can feel Bucky’s lips smile and the chuckle around his cock. Steve comes so hard that he can’t breathe. He chokes off a scream that would bring the cops to his apartment. Every muscles hurts as he sags into his mattress. 

 

Bucky places a wet kiss to Steve’s stomach. “I knew I could mess you up. Look at you.”

 

Steve knows his hair is sticking up every which way. While the bedspread might have been spared semen, Steve and Bucky are dripping in sweat. The scent of sex overpowers Steve’s apple cider candle. 

 

“That was...wow,” Steve sighs with a goofy grin. His glow wears off quickly as the reality of the night crashes in around him. 

 

Bucky flops on the bed beside him. “Yes, that was fucking amazing…”

 

Steve blinks up at the ceiling. The rain pelts against the window again. “Do you do this often?”

 

“What, fucking?” Bucky runs  hand through his damp hair. 

 

“Fighting and then….” Steve’s voice trails off. 

 

Bucky rolls to his side. “God no.” He bites his lower lip. “I was all done fighting for the night until I saw you.”

 

Steve feels a little special. “Yeah, I’ve never...you know. Not after a fight.”

 

“It feels fantastic, doesn’t it?” Bucky grins.

 

Steve lets out a small chuckle. “It does.”

 

Bucky’s hand glides across Steve’s smooth chest to rest at his hip. “Maybe next time, you can make me swear.”

 

“You already swear enough,” he laughs. 

 

Bucky pulls himself on top of Steve. His weight feels good, comforting. “Then maybe you can get me to shut up.” His mouth covers Steve’s. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



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